


blame it on the rain

by estrella30



Category: Smallville RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30





	blame it on the rain

ok, seriously. You all fucking knew it was going to happen, right? So, yeah. Here it is. (And yes, I do plan and making them fuck one day. This is just the little, oh, hello! I'm Estrella and I'm going to do BAD THINGS TO YOU fic to start me off *g*)

Written for [](http://bop-radar.livejournal.com/profile)[**bop_radar**](http://bop-radar.livejournal.com/) for the [](http://sv-rps.livejournal.com/profile)[**sv_rps**](http://sv-rps.livejournal.com/) community for the holidays. She asked for "Michael teaching Tom to skate. Flirting, etc, ensues." So that's what she got *g*

Thanks to [](http://mskatej.livejournal.com/profile)[**mskatej**](http://mskatej.livejournal.com/) for the super beta and for [](http://voldything.livejournal.com/profile)[**voldything**](http://voldything.livejournal.com/) for letting me post early since I'm convinced I'm going to lose ALL of my fics if I don't post them immediately.

 **Title** \- Blame It On The Rain  
 **Pairing** \- TW/MR  
 **Size** \- dude, they are HUGE! uhm, I mean, 1850 words! *giggles*  
 **Rating** \- kissing and stuff

 

 

 

_**Blame It On The Rain** _

 

 

The ice is cold and hard under Tom's ass. He tries to push himself up to his feet, but every muscle in his body hurts and he winds up falling back onto his hands. When Michael skates over and smirks at him, Tom groans and lies back on the ice. He stares at the ceiling and decides that he actually likes it better down here on the ground. He'll only fall again if he gets up, anyway. This is just his way of cutting out the middleman.

"Nap time, Tommy?"

Tom can hear the laughter in Michael's voice, the bastard. Seriously. So what if some people can skate and others can't? There are _plenty_ of things that Tom's good at that Michael isn't. Like…you know…

"I'm not napping." Tom frowns and pushes himself up. Now his head is cold too. He shakes it and little bits of ice fly from his hair. "And so what if I can't skate," he adds defensively. Michael holds his hands palms up and does some tricky, backward skating maneuver. Tom grits his teeth.

Michael smiles. "I never said you had to."

"Good. Because I don't even _need_ to."

"Completely understood." Michael's grinning at him again. He spins in a circle and hops up just as some little kid comes skating by doing some weird trick thing on the ice with his stick. Showoffs.

"You know, you're a pain in my ass," Tom says, but he's smiling and Michael smiles back. "A total and complete pain in my ass."

"Now see," Michael drawls before craning his neck in an attempt to actually _check-out_ Tom's ass. Tom swallows hard and waits for Michael to finish. "Actually," Michael says, leaning over and offering his hand to Tom, "I think it's the _ice_ that's the pain in your ass. Not me."

Tom takes Michael's hand, smiles, and yanks as hard as he can. Michael's skates go out from under him. He falls half on the ice and half on Tom's lap in a pile of limbs and curse-words.

"You son of a bitch, Tommy." The words hang in the air on the puff of Michael's breath. His cheeks are pink from the cold and his eyes are bright blue and twinkling.

Tom looks at Michael's mouth, then quickly looks away. Michael's still smiling and laughing. Tom tells himself that he's getting hard because he just _really likes_ ice-skating.

"Yeah, well." Tom's voice sounds stuck so he clears his throat. Michael looks away and untangles his legs from Tom's. "Takes one to know one," Tom finishes, lamely.

Michael stands up and this time when he offers his hand, Tom grabs it and lets himself be pulled to his feet. Tom shakes his head again and runs his fingers through his hair. He's pretty sure he's never going to get the feeling back in his fingers.

"So, whaddya say," Michael says, lightly punching Tom's shoulder. "Food?"

 _I wanted to kiss you,_ Tom thinks. _Just now I was watching your mouth and I wanted to kiss you._

"Yeah," Tom finally says, swallowing hard past things he'll never work up the nerve to say. "Food sounds good."

 

*

 

They get pizza (Tom's choice) and tacos (Michael's choice) and go back to Michael's place because Tom hates his house since the divorce. He fucked up and he knows it; no need to be reminded of it every day and night.

Michael's place is much better anyway. Games and Playstation and autographed movie posters. Junk food and beer. Tom finishes his pizza and settles back into the cushions of the couch. He never wants to go home.

"Man, I am never going home," Tom says, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Michael's house smells like buttered popcorn and Michael's cologne, and Tom gets hard again and doesn't have ice-skating to blame this time. Maybe he just really likes pizza.

"Well, mi casa es su casa, Senor Welling," Michael says.

"You know, for a voice guy that is a truly appalling accent," Tom tells him. He sits back up and grabs his beer from the coffee table. The beer is cold and the bubbles tickle his throat. Tom coughs into his hand and puts the beer back on the table.

Michael rattles off something which could be either Spanish or Pig-Latin; Tom can't tell which. When Michael jumps up from the couch the only thing Tom's surprised at is that it took him this long to get another burst of energy.

"Let's go out," Michael says, propping one foot on the edge of the coffee table. He leans forward and Tom can see a flash of Michael's throat when his ratty t-shirt falls open at the neck. Michael smiles and Tom can smell beer and bubble-gum and _Michael_ and the only reason he's not getting hard is because he's still hard from before.

"Yeah, okay," Tom says. In a split-second Michael is whipping out his cell phone and flicking through his address book.

"Awesome. I can call a few cheerleaders I know. Or, hmm, I've got a few dancers in here I haven't seen in a while." Michael bites his lip and frowns in concentration as he scrolls through the names.

"I'm not going out with anyone you've already fucked," Tom tells him succinctly.

Michael looks up at him and blinks.

"Seriously, Mike," Tom says again. "No one you've fucked."

It takes another few minutes for Michael to finish going through the list. When he's done he tosses the phone on the coffee table and drops to the couch with a sigh.

"So," Michael says, turning his head toward Tom and smirking, "Playstation then?"

 

*

 

Playstation and a few beers turns into a movie and some Tequila which turns into Infomercials and passing out in a heap on Michael's couch. When Tom wakes up in the morning the sun is shining straight through Michael's living room windows and directly into Tom's eyes. He turns the other way and shoves his face deeper into the cushions.

"Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Michael says from somewhere above him. Tom rolls over and blinks. Michael is wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans and Tom gets hard - _really_ hard - and tells himself that it's just regular, run-of-the-mill, morning wood.

"Yeah. M'up." Tom rolls over and closes his eyes again to prove it. Michael slaps him on the ass and whistles as he walks to the kitchen.

Tom has a really hard time falling back asleep.

 

*

 

About an hour after the first time Tom woke up, he wakes up again. Michael is sitting on Tom's legs and flipping through the television stations. Tom pulls his feet back and glares when Michael grins at him.

"I'm taking a shower," Tom says, walking toward the bathroom.

"Good," Michael calls after him. "Cause you stink."

Tom shuts the bathroom door and finds the toothbrush he keeps at Michael's in the medicine cabinet. He brushes his teeth and tells himself that he's not getting hard because the bathroom smells like Michael, but because he's still hard from the morning. Maybe he had a dream about (Michael) some really hot girl.

Michael is out in the living room singing along with some horrible 80's rap song on MTV. Tom closes his eyes and tells himself that Michael singing Tone Loc isn't in any way funny or sexy or hot. It's really just _not._

The problem is though, that his _dick_ apparently thinks it is. The other problem is that Tom's getting really tired of making excuses.

Tom pushes the bathroom door open and stalks down the hall back into the living room. Michael is dancing around the coffee table and singing, but he stops when he sees Tom standing there, staring at him.

"Don't tell me," Michael says, walking up to him. "There's something wrong with the shower."

Tom looks at him. At his fair, pale skin and the faint darkening of stubble on his cheeks and head. Michael's eyes are blue and his mouth is red and wet and Tom is still hard and it's not because of the ice or the pizza or the morning - it's because of _Michael._

"I want to kiss you," Tom says. He barely recognizes his own voice. "Can I?"

Michael licks his lips. He's smiling just a little, nothing like rejection in his eyes and Tom doesn't wait for permission. He leans over and kisses the corner of Michael's mouth.

"Yeah," Michael says. His breath is close and warm against Tom's cheek. "Yeah, okay."

Tom grabs Michael's shoulders and turns his head to kiss Michael's mouth. Michael's body fits against his perfectly, and when Tom kisses him Michael breathes into Tom's mouth and kisses him back.

They kiss as if they've been kissing all their lives. Tom _knows_ Michael; he knows the way he walks and moves and sways. He knows the way Michael talks and laughs and shouts, and the way Michael's eyes twinkle just before he laughs or when he's playing a trick on someone. Tom knows that the crinkle Michael gets just between his eyes means that he can't quite figure something out, and he knows that when Michael finally does figure it out he'll snap the fingers of one hand and slap his thigh with the other.

Tom's seen Michael focused on something - at work and at home - but he never knew what it would feel like to have Michael focused on _him._ Michael licks into his mouth and grabs a handful of Tom's hair and Tom groans and tries to not come in his pants.

"I'm gonna go shower now." Tom pants after they stop kissing.

Michael leans over to sniff his neck and reaches down with one hand to grab Tom's dick. Tom yelps. "Good," Michael says as he squeezes Tom's cock before pulling his hand away. "Because you still stink."

Tom is so hard he doesn't know if he can make it down the hall and to the bathroom. Michael pats Tom's hip and takes a step back. Tom grits his teeth. "Fine," Tom says as he takes a careful step backward, and - oh yeah. Walking's not the easiest thing in the world right now. "But after I'm done," Tom says, pointing a finger at Michael, "We're fucking."

He hears Michael laugh. "No ice skating lessons today?"

Tom stops outside the door of the bathroom, turns around and glares. "Blow me."

"I'll put it on the list," Michael says. Tom figures he's joking but before he closes the bathroom door he sees Michael scribbling something on the back of a newspaper with a pen.

"Wait. You actually have a _list_?" Tom asks, poking his head back out of the bathroom door.

Michael rips the page from the paper. He shoves it in his back pocket and shrugs. "You'll have to find out for yourself," he tells Tom and grins.

Tom grins back and shuts the door. He can't wait.

 

*


End file.
